Listening 🦢

A violin chortled.

It felt like

I was a pebble of rain

rolling from a feather.

The inside of my mind

was matte ivory,

I was silk

and smelt of heather.

There was no wind,

just a warm stirring

within, somewhere;

but I have no place

or need of knowing.

I wasn’t sight

or taste or scent,

but I sure became

the sound of a symphony.